


Hangover

by Naughty_Yorick



Series: A Witcher and a Bard Walk into a Tavern [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Hungover Jaskier, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:48:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26823178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naughty_Yorick/pseuds/Naughty_Yorick
Summary: There’s a long pause. “You wouldn’t understand how shitty it is to love someone who doesn’t love you back. Just gotta… gotta block that out, sometimes.”Jaskier is horribly hungover. Geralt, for once, takes pity on him - but can't help but wonder what inspired the bard to get so terribly drunk in the first place.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: A Witcher and a Bard Walk into a Tavern [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1952458
Comments: 36
Kudos: 375





	Hangover

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This fic was originally part of a collection of one-shots, which I'm now splitting into separate fics. If you've already read this: hello! Welcome back. If not, please enjoy!

Jaskier is painfully, horribly, world-endingly hungover.

His brain has congealed into a kind of paste, and his tongue is heavy in his mouth. His lips are dry and cracked and there’s a throbbing, continual pain behind his left eye.

If it were up to him, he’d be curled up in a bed somewhere sleeping it off. But it’s _not_ up to him, so he’s trudging along the road at Geralt’s side, trying to remember how to walk.

Technically - technically, realistically, actually - he could have just stayed at the inn. He didn’t _have_ to follow Geralt.

He suspects the fact that he dragged his sorry arse out of bed to trail the witcher to his next contract is proof that he’s still quite drunk. 

It’s warm, but overcast, and Jaskier is thankful for the respite from the bright, glaring sunshine that woke him that morning. He feels _grimy,_ but there was no time for a bath so he has to wait till they make camp and hope that they spend the night near a stream where he can have a wash.

He’s dashed off into the forest that surrounds them a few times to be sick, and his stomach is thoroughly empty. He’s absurdly hungry, but doesn’t trust himself to eat without just throwing it all up again.

He traipses along next to Geralt, focusing on putting one foot ahead of the other, eyes down, half-closed. He’s completely silent, and while he knows Geralt is thankful for the break in his continual chatter he’s aware that he’s keeping an eye on him, shooting glances his way every few minutes. 

He’s too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice the root sticking out of the ground at his feet, and stumbles over it, wrenching his ankle but managing to stay upright. He swears, his voice low and hoarse.

  
*

Geralt peers down at Jaskier. He’s hugely hungover - or still drunk - his path weaving and wobbling as he staggers down the dirt road. Truthfully, Geralt feels a little guilty for making him walk, but it’s his own fucking fault for getting so outrageously pissed.

And then the bard’s foot gets trapped in a protruding root and he stumbles, his ankle twisting unpleasantly as he swears.

Ah, _fuck_.

“Jaskier.”

He peers up at him with red, unfocused eyes. Geralt extends his hand towards him, and Jaskier looks at it like he’s not sure what to do with it.

“Get on the horse, Jaskier.”

He blinks unsteadily, then grabs Geralt’s hand. He pulls him up onto Roach, guiding him to sit in front of him between his legs. Jaskier smells slightly of beer, his shoulders sagging, his hair a mess. Geralt places an arm either side of him, making sure he doesn’t just slide right off.

“So,” he says, “How are you feeling?”

Jaskier grumbles in response. He might have said _fuck off_. Geralt generously assumes he didn’t.

“What possessed you to get so drunk?” He asks instead, a little amused.

“Urgh.”

“I didn’t catch that.”

Jaskier takes a deep breath through his nose, then tries again. “Because it’s _easier_ , you know.”

“Easier than…?”

“Thinking. Thinking about… _stuff_. You know.”

Geralt isn’t sure he knows. “Right.” 

Jaskier groans and rubs at his face with his hands, swaying a little. “You don’t _get it._ You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

There’s a long pause. “You wouldn’t understand how shitty it is to love someone who doesn’t love you back. Just gotta… gotta block that out, sometimes.”

_Oh._ There’s a little lurch in Geralt’s stomach, which he tries to ignore. He wonders who the object of Jaskier’s affections is now. He tries to swallow back the unexpected stab of jealousy.

“I understand.” He says, slowly.

“Pshhh,” Jaskier slurs, laughing, “ _You?_ Everyone wants you, Geralt. Don’t be stupid.”

There’s something honest in the way he says it. _Everyone wants you_. Geralt isn’t sure if that’s true - but Jaskier says it with such conviction. 

“I’m not being stupid. It’s true. I understand how it is.”

“Who could possibly not want y- wait, no, is it Yen? Don’t answer that question if it’s Yen, I don’t want to hear about it.”

Jaskier sighs, and slumps a little against one of Geralt’s arms.

“At least you got to…” he wobbles a little, “ _you know_. You got to… to… _well._ With her. Better than nothing isn’t it? Better than being all… _wanting_.” He closes his eyes. “Urgh,” he says again.

Geralt smiles softly at the man sandwiched between his arms. The bard releases a long, melancholy sigh.

“You’ve made me _sad_ , now," he says. 

“Oh?”

“Who couldn’t… who wouldn’t love you back, Geralt? They must be either _completely_ extraordinary _…”_ he slumps back against Geralt’s chest, letting his head loll back till it’s resting in the crook of his neck, “Or a _complete_ idiot.”

Geralt stares down at him. 

“Hmm.”


End file.
